


Degrees of Separation

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Future Fic, M/M, Spoilers for season three, this will be jossed after 3x04 airs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-24
Updated: 2013-06-24
Packaged: 2017-12-15 23:52:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/855412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The call comes while he is en route to Government, and he would leave his cell phone in his pocket and check it later, except that it’s his best friend’s ring tone, and he has not heard a peep from Stiles in over a week.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The Stiles/Scott ship has hit me like a fricking freight train since the start of season three, and at this point, all I can really do is go with it.

_Now_

The call comes while he is en route to Government, and he would leave his cell phone in his pocket and check it later, except that it’s his best friend’s ring tone, and he has not heard a peep from Stiles in over a week. Normally, this would be grounds enough for him to drive up to CalTech and find out exactly what Stiles is thinking, but a representative from another pack has been in town and his presence required the attention of Derek and Scott, since they are the resident alphas of Beacon Hills. When asked what they would do next year after Scott transferred from Beacon County College to veterinary school, Derek and Deaton had both promised they would “work something out,” but for now, Scott gets to enjoy the wonderful honor of pack politics. He will be so glad when that beta leaves this Friday.

He corrects his trajectory, heading for one of the benches outside the social sciences building, and slips his phone out of his pocket, putting an end to Queen’s _You’re My Best Friend_ \- Stiles’s doing, of course - when he presses “Accept” on the screen. Expecting his friend’s voice to come through even before he brings his phone to his ear - because, according to Stiles, “Why should I wait, when I know you’ll be able to hear me anyway?” - he is understandably confused when a handful of seconds pass and then he hears, _“Is this Scott? Scott McCall?”_

“Yeah, this is Scott. What’s going on? Where is Stiles?”

There is a distinctly uncomfortable silence - or what should be silence, because he can still hear the guy on the other end breathing - until the guy says, _”Look, I don’t know what happened, okay? I’m a friend of his - we got to know each other because I’m a werewolf, and I could smell another pack on Stiles when he was in my Physics class last semester, and it’s just nice to be around someone my age who actually knows about our kind, you know? - but I haven’t seen him around since Monday, and I got worried, so I kind of, um, broke into his dorm? And he wasn’t there, but his phone was, so I figured I should probably call his alpha and tell you what’s up.”_

At any other time, the news that a member of another pack had invaded what is, essentially, his territory, since Stiles sleeps there, would have Scott shifting against his will, but right now all that matters is the fact that something is very obviously wrong with Stiles. “Thanks, man. I really appreciate it. Is there anything else you can tell me? Do you smell anything weird around his dorm? Has he mentioned having trouble with anyone lately?”

 _”Yeah, sure. He hasn’t said anything about anyone giving him a hard time. And um - it’s almost like there_ isn’t _a scent in here? Like, whatever happened, whoever did this, they tried to cover up their tracks, only it kind of backfired? But I don’t see anything missing, and it doesn’t look like there was any kind of struggle, but there had to be, right? Because Stiles would never just disappear without telling anyone, and he definitely wouldn’t leave without taking his phone or his laptop - which is sitting on his bed, open, by the way, although I think the battery’s been dead for a while.”_

Which is absolutely a bad sign. Stiles hates letting his laptop run out of power, never knowing when he might need it. He typically keeps it on the charger unless he knows for sure that he will be done using it in less than two hours, which is about the amount of time the battery lasts.

Scott is fighting pretty hard to stay calm at this point, because all signs indicate that Stiles has been missing, possibly for the past two days, since the last time the werewolf on the other end of the line - who Scott has heard nothing about prior to this conversation, and that is a thing that he and Stiles are going to be talking about, once he knows that his friend is safe and sound - has apparently not seen or heard from him since Monday, and it’s Wednesday morning now. He takes a deep breath and says, “Okay, good. That’s good. Anything else?” Knowing it’s a longshot, he asks, “Do you know if his dorm mate will be back any time soon?”

He’s proven right when Stiles’s friend responds hesitantly, _”I doubt it. Willard is kind of a social butterfly - Stiles says he’s almost never in the dorm before midnight, and he leaves really early in the morning.”_

“Which is probably why he hasn’t noticed that Stiles is missing,” Scott concludes grimly. Willard he has heard about. He’s the guy Stiles got stuck with this semester, because Dalton, his previous dorm mate, dropped out at the end of last semester. Willard had just transferred from his local community college and didn’t know anyone to room with. Housing decided to stick Stiles and Willard together, much to their mutual displeasure.

Briefly, Scott wonders if Willard could have done something to Stiles, but he dismisses the idea. The guy may leave his stuff all over the dorm, and he may frequently bring his one-night-stands back at 2:00 a.m., but according to Stiles, he has never seemed violent.

_”Well, there’s that, but I think it’s probably more likely that he just - doesn’t care? I know that sounds terrible, but -”_

“No, I get it,” Scott assures him, “The guy’s a douche.”

_”Oh. So you’ve met him?”_

“Didn’t really have to.” Stiles has proven many times over the years that he has an innately good sense of other people. The one time he misjudged someone’s character, it didn’t really count, because it was Derek; given the circumstances of their first few meetings, Scott figures it was a pretty easy mistake to make.

Although the sound is short, Scott hears a bark of laughter from the other end of the line. _”Yeah, that makes sense.”_ The guy’s throat clears and then he asks, _”So, um, are you coming down here? I could call my alpha, if you want, since she’s closer, but I kind of figured that you’d want to be the one in charge for, y’know, obvious reasons.”_

“Yeah, I’ll get there as soon as I can,” Scott promises, mentally running down the list of people he will need to contact before he leaves. Derek will simply have to handle the negotiations without him for a while. The other pack will understand. No alpha who is actually worthy of the title could sit back and do nothing while he knew one of his own was missing. He wishes that he had trusted his gut and gone up to CalTech over the weekend, but that can’t be helped now.

Standing up from the bench he claimed earlier, Scott makes his way out toward the parking lot. As he heads over towards his bike, he says, “So, hey, you never actually told me your name.”

_”Oh, right. I’m Zachary.”_

Abruptly, Scott replies, “Okay, then, Zachary, I’ll see you soon. Thanks again for calling.” He ends the call before the other werewolf can say anything.

So that’s Zachary.

Telling himself that it’s not important, he pulls up Derek’s number and presses the call icon. The phone rings a few times before Derek says, _”Shouldn’t you be in class?”_

“Yeah, Government’s seriously not happening today.”

He can practically feel it as Derek reaches the obvious conclusion. _”What’s wrong?”_

_Winter Break_

It’s a few days before Christmas, and Dr. Deaton gave Scott the day off, so he is over visiting Stiles while the sheriff is at work. They’re lounging around watching the original _Star Wars_ trilogy and eating pretzels, because Stiles refuses to keep popcorn in the house where his dad might eat it. (Scott could tell Stiles that his dad eats popcorn - smothered in butter - on a fairly regular basis, because he keeps boxes of it at the station, but he lets the sheriff have his rebellion. The man deserves it.) Scott takes a moment between mouthfuls to just breathe in his best friend’s scent, happy to have him here, where he can see him and smell him and hear him and - if the moment presents itself - touch him as much as he wants.

As proud as he is that Stiles managed to get into the school he wanted, with a full-ride scholarship to boot, Scott still hates having him so far away for three quarters of the year. They’ve been a huge part of each other’s lives since they met in middle school, and it always feels like he is missing a limb whenever Stiles isn’t there. They still Skype and text and call as much as possible, but it’s not the same. He knows it will be even worse next year, when he, Boyd, and Isaac all head off to different schools. It’s helped to have the two of them with him in Beacon Hills while Stiles is down in Pasadena.

Glancing over at Scott, Stiles, who has no compunctions about talking with his mouth full, doesn’t bother to swallow his pretzels before asking, “Are you seriously sniffing me right now, dude?” He shakes his head. “You are spending _way_ too much time around Derek.”

Scott glares at him, making sure to keep his eyes trained on Stiles so that it’s too late for him to duck before Scott can whack his friend in the face with a pillow.

“Hey!” Stiles squawks, laughing and sputtering around his food. He laughs again and protests, “No hitting the human! Is that any way to treat your best friend after it’s been so long?”

“Well, maybe the human should have thought about that before he made fun of his alpha.” The words come easier than they did back when they were still in high school, right after he became an alpha. It felt strange to consider himself anyone’s leader, and it didn’t help that he had another alpha in his territory, sharing his betas. Not Peter and Cora, of course. They were Hales, and no one would ever question that. But Boyd and Isaac were caught between the two alphas of Beacon Hills for the longest time before they agreed that the two of them could belong to both packs, similar to the way a born beta is a member of more than one pack if they marry into another. As confusing as it was for a while, they have managed to make it work.

Snorting, Stiles remarked, “Looks like my alpha is getting too big for his britches. Maybe I should make fun of him more often.”

“Oh, yeah?” Scott challenges. “You gonna keep me in line?”

“Somebody has to.”

Grinning, Scott reaches for the huge snack bowl that sits between the two of them on the couch. Stiles watches with his head cocked as Scott places it carefully on the floor. “Hey, what are you -

oomph!” Flat on his back, he stares up at his friend accusingly, fighting against a smile. “Really, Scott? I haven’t exactly filled out since high school. I’m still fragile and scrawny. You can’t just go around pouncing on me like that. What if you broke me?”

“Please,” Scott scoffs. “You’ve never actually been scrawny. You’re just wiry. And you took way harder hits on the field in lacrosse practice and lived to whine about it. I’m pretty sure that this isn’t going to be the thing that does you in.”

“Really? Well, maybe I disagree. Maybe I want to file a complaint and tell Derek I’m changing packs.”

Even though he knows Stiles is joking, and that he would never leave their pack, Scott cannot stop his eyes from flashing down at him. Looking shocked, and more than a little contrite, Stiles willingly tilts his head back, baring his neck. Gratefully, Scott leans down and gives the flesh displayed for him a gentle, yet still firm, nip, nuzzling at the spot after.

When he pulls back, Stiles looks up at him, asking cautiously, “Better?”

Wordlessly, Scott nods. He swallows then, and says, “Yeah, thanks. Sorry about that, I just - you can’t say things like that, okay? I mean. If you ever meant it - if you really did want to leave, I wouldn’t try to force you not to. But please _don’t_ joke about it.”

“No, yeah, of course. Sorry, dude. Wasn’t really thinking about it.” He wrinkles his nose, which probably should not be cute on a guy who will be twenty in the spring, and yet, because it’s Stiles, it is. “And what is this crap about me being serious, by the way? Scott,” he says quietly, “I would never do that, okay? I would never leave you. Not if I didn’t have to,” he amends, because they both know that there are no absolutes. They have both, at certain times in their lives, had to face the fact that they might not live to see another day. Neither of them is into making promises that cannot be kept.

His own voice even softer, Scott replies, “I know.”

They are silent for a while, content to look at each other. That should probably be weird, Scott thinks, but then again, he has never had another friend like Stiles. Isaac is like his brother, and he and Boyd have become much closer in the years since they both became comfortable with their new relationship, but there is just no comparing to or competing with Stiles.

Eventually, though, Stiles breaks the quietude, swallowing and saying, “So, hey, you wanna hear something cool?” He raises his eyebrows, most likely trying to appear coy, but really only succeeding in looking like a dork. It’s oddly endearing. “You’ll be the first - or, really, I guess, the second - to know.”

Brow furrowing, Scott tilts his head. This should be interesting, at the very least, given the source. “Okay.”

Beaming, Stiles waits a few seconds and then announces, “I got laid.”

Scott blinks and then stills, staring down at the mildly cocky, incredibly pleased expression on his best friend’s face. “You - really? When?”

He should be feeling happy for Stiles right about now, right? That seems to be the standard response for when one’s best friend loses his virginity. So why does he feel so on edge? Visions of tracking down some nameless, faceless girl and tearing her apart pass behind his eyes, and he has to give his head a little shake. That right there? Not normal. In spite of his status as an alpha, Scott tends to think of himself as more of a lover than a fighter. Violence is something he reserves for extreme situations, and considering that no one is bleeding out or in some other form of mortal peril, he is fairly certain that this does not count. He is so focused on his bizarre reaction that he almost misses what Stiles says next.

“Two weeks ago. It was with this guy I met in one of my classes this semester, Zachary. We’re just friends, but we have a lot in common, and we’re both unattached, so we figured, why not, you know?”

“And?”

For some reason, _now_ is apparently the time when Stiles decides to become bashful. He ducks his head, and Scott can smell it as the blood rises to fill his cheeks. “I’ll spare you the details - for which you had better thank me later on bended knee, because _dude_ the amount of stuff I could tell you about Allison is un _real_ \- but it was pretty amazing.”

The stab of pain he expects to feel at the sound of Allison’s name is strangely absent. Perhaps the two years with minimal contact are to thank for that. They both agreed, when she went off to Sarah Lawrence, that they would limit their interactions to email, and that they would try to remain friends. He still hears her voice about once a week, though, because she and Isaac talk on the phone as often as they can get away with. Scott has a feeling she will end up with a werewolf, after all, and at this point he thinks he can safely say that he’s all right with the fact that it won’t be him.

He should probably say something, now. That would be the appropriate thing to do.

“Well,” he flounders, trying to sound supportive, “good for you, man.” What is _wrong_ with him?

Stiles must be wondering the same thing, because he narrows his eyes as he slowly says, “Yeah, thanks.”

Scott is pretty sure he has never been so glad to hear score for the ending credits of _A New Hope_ in his entire life. Rolling off of Stiles, and subsequently, the couch, he announces, “I’m gonna go put the next one in.”

“Right.”

They never talk about Zachary again.

_Now_

As he races down the highway, Scott reflects that this journey would be murder if he had to spend it confined within the space of a car. Saving up to buy his bike, as dorky as it looks, is honestly one of the best things he has ever done. He loves to be able to feel the wind flying past, loves feeling connected to everything as he rides. Trying to make it to Pasadena while stuck in a car when he is already anxious and running mostly on instinct would more than likely result in a wreck.

He is glad, though, that Boyd volunteered to follow him in his Rabbit. If they need to drive Stiles straight to the nearest hospital when they find him, then having a four-door vehicle will be invaluable.

Swallowing thickly, Scott shoves the thought of an injured Stiles out of his mind. That way lies madness. Instead, he takes a moment to be thankful that there are no packs local to Pasadena to deal with, because he has no patience right now to tactfully request permission to visit another alpha’s territory, and he cannot afford to piss another alpha off, especially since Stiles will still be attending school there for another two years, and he may decide to return for grad school. The last time they discussed it, Stiles still wasn’t sure. 

There are so many things they still have to figure out. So many things they still have to do. Stiles has to be okay, because he hates not seeing things through, and he is only really a quarter of the way done with his life. Not even. He won’t be twenty for another three weeks.

He’s supposed to be home for Spring Break at the end of this week. They’re supposed to celebrate his birthday early.

They’re supposed to do a lot of things.

Scott grits his teeth and maneuvers his bike around a Volvo, knowing without looking that Boyd will be able to keep up. They need to go faster.

\---

He and Boyd have to stop to get gas more often than Scott cares for, and around 1:30 in the afternoon, they grab something to eat and drink from a truck stop and stretch their legs. They are only there for about ten minutes, and then they head off again. Both of them are too impatient to stay any longer.

An eternity later, they pass through the city limits of Pasadena.

Scott leads the way to the campus, having been there several times in the past two years. He helped Stiles settle into both of his dorm rooms, and he drove down to take care of him when Stiles had the flu during February of their freshman year. Stiles had protested, of course, worried about Scott’s courses, but much of Scott’s schooling tends to take place online, and he told his professors there was a family emergency. (“Are you going to claim a family emergency every time I get the sniffles, Scott? Seriously?” “Your temperature has been over 103 for the past two days. At this point, I’m not even sure how you’re still coherent. You do not have _the sniffles_.” “... You’re ridiculous, dude. But thanks.”) He also helped to move Stiles out of his freshman dorm, and plans to do so again at the end of this semester.

As soon as they reach the area leading to the dorms, Scott begins extending his senses, searching for traces of Stiles. He knows, intellectually, that he will not be able to find anything useful, but he cannot stop himself. It’s more than a compulsion. It’s instinct.

That disturbing non-scent, the void, that Zachary mentioned over the phone, hits his nose like the lingering stench of the cages in the animal clinic when one of the dogs has had diarrhea. He flinches.

They pull into the parking lot nearest Stiles’s hall. Once again, Scott takes point, heading past the foyer and towards the stairs. They run up two flights, reaching the third floor, and they keep going until they reach 316. A guy stands outside the dorm, leaning against the door with his arms crossed. His clothes are fairly nondescript: a faded pair of jeans, a Superman t-shirt, red Vans. His hair is a dark brown, almost black, as are his eyes, and his skin is smooth and tanned. He is slightly above average height. Scott’s jaw clenches. His nose tells him all he needs to know about who this is, even with the underlying current of _nothing_ that is throwing his senses off.

Taking a deep breath, he keeps his voice even as he says, “Zachary.”

Glancing around the hallway, Zachary dips his head as a sign of respect, saying quietly, “Alpha McCall.”

“This is Boyd, one of my -”

“One of your betas. Yeah.” To Boyd, Zachary says, “Stiles has told me a bit about you. It’s good to meet you.”

Zachary misses the glare Scott sends his way since he is looking at Boyd, who says nothing. Betas of other packs do not traditionally interrupt alphas. As much as Scott despises pack politics, they exist for a reason. Their own natures demand that their hierarchy be acknowledged.

Still, now is not the time for him to assert his dominance. The only thing that matters right now is finding Stiles.

“Let’s get started.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise that I will get to the comments left on the first chapter after I watch Unleashed tonight. 
> 
> As some of you may have noticed, I upped the chapter count. This thing is growing on me, and I wish I could say I was surprised.

They open up Stiles’s laptop, which Zachary put on the charger as soon as Scott hung up on him earlier in the day, and turn it on. Zachary looks prepared to hack into it, but Scott plucks the laptop out of his hands and types in the username and password, logging in on the first attempt. His username has been IamBatman24 since their sophomore year, and his password has been Selena Kyle since the night they found Erica’s body in the abandoned bank during their junior year.

He ignores the way that Zachary’s disgruntled look feels like a victory and begins searching through his best friend’s files. Stiles likes to keep a log of the pack’s supernatural encounters, along with an updated version of the Argent and Hale bestiaries. If he has had some kind of trouble with anything outside the norm recently, there should be an account of it. He clicks on the folder titled featurecreature.doc. When he scrolls over it, the newest file shows that it is only three days old.

When he opens the document, he is severely disappointed to see a single paragraph and unanswered stats. The disappointment sharpens further upon reading what little text there is. In it, Stiles sounds as though he is uncertain if he is dealing with something supernatural or not.

_Species: Unknown_

_Number: Unknown_

_Strengths: Unknown_

_Weaknesses: Unknown_

_Allies: Unknown_

_I swear I’ve been looking over my shoulder for the last week. It feels like someone is watching me. At first, I figured it was paranoia, but now I’m not so sure. The feeling always goes away when Zachary is around, which points to something supernatural, but it could also be a case of not wanting to risk someone I see so regularly picking up on the fact that something is wrong. My wards against malicious intent aren’t being triggered, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything, because there are ways to confuse them or get around them._

Opening a tab to Google, Scott tries to search through the recent history. He bites back a swear. The entire search history has been cleared. His cookies are gone. There is nothing.

He stills, his nostrils flaring. The non-scent permeates the dorm room, but the gaping lack is even more obvious on the laptop, which Stiles uses every day. No one is allowed to touch this pc but Stiles, meaning that there should not even be traces of the students who have come before him like there should be around the dorm room. There are no traces of other people, but Scott also cannot smell his friend, which should be impossible.

Still mulling over the distinct lack of Stiles’s scent, and what it might mean, Scott announces, “Whoever took him wiped his internet history.”

“They probably would have been better off just stealing it and making it look like he left on his own,” Boyd remarks.

“Yeah,” Zachary responds slowly, “but then they would have had to take the charger - and his cell phone, which we could have tracked with GPS.”

Scott pauses, running that last part over in his head and combining it with what little he has found out since coming to the dorm. “Maybe we can’t use GPS,” he starts, “but they might have left us something we can use.”

“What?” asks Zachary, sounding bewildered.

It’s Boyd who answers, “We can follow the trail of whatever it is. Should be pretty easy, since it sticks out so much.”

“Unless they’ve thought about that, and left false trails,” Zachary counters.

“Which is definitely a possibility, but right now this is the only thing we really have to go on. If we had time, I’d dust his laptop for prints and take them back to his dad, but it might not turn anything up, and we have no idea what condition Stiles is in right now. We don’t have time to sit around discussing the what-ifs.”

Throwing his hands up, Zachary says, “Hey, I want to find Stiles just as much as you do.” This time, there’s no way for him to miss the look Scott sends his way. “Okay, maybe not. But the point is, we have no idea what we’re up against, here. We’re basically flying blind.”

Normally, Scott would agree with the cautious approach that Zachary is trying to sell. Many times over the last four years, he has been the voice of reason when Derek wanted to charge into a situation unprepared, but this is Stiles, and that makes everything different. “Then we split up and follow each trail to the end. We’ll keep our phones on silent and text each other. No phone calls unless it’s an emergency. Got it?”

Though he shakes his head, Zachary takes out his phone to make the necessary change to his settings and says, “Got it.”

“Boyd?”

“I did that right after you called and told me about Stiles.”

Scott blinks and then smiles for the first time since Zachary contacted him. “Oh. Good thinking.”

His beta sends him a wry look, and if he were a more talkative individual, Scott has a feeling he would say something along the lines of, “It’s not the first time we’ve done this.” Which probably means it’s a good thing Boyd isn’t very talkative. Scott has no idea what Stiles has and has not told Zachary about their pack’s formative years, but he would like to hope that he downplayed the chaos and the uncertainty. Some things are best kept within the pack.

“Okay, then. Let’s go.”

They leave the dorm room and head out the way they came. The three of them follow the wiped scent trail out to the parking lot, at which point it diverges. There are four separate trails. As much as Scott hates the thought, there is a very real chance that Stiles will be in the place the fourth trail leads, and they will waste valuable time following the other three. Still, one way or another, they will find his best friend. He knows they will, because there is no other option.

He turns to ask Zachary, “Do you have a car?”

“I have a bike. It’s not as fast as a car, but it’ll do.”

“Then me and Boyd will meet up and follow the last trail if neither of us find where they’re keeping Stiles when our trails end, and you can join us when you finish following yours.”

They choose their route and each head to their respective modes of transportation.

It is almost laughably easy to retrace the path Stiles’s captors took now that he knows what to scent for, which does make him wonder if there is something he is missing. After all, it cannot really be this simple, can it? Then again, he is used to the supernatural disasters that they deal with back home. Perhaps things are different outside of his hometown. Either way, Scott merely rides onward, taking the streets at a much faster speed than he would if he were anywhere in Beacon Hills. Sheriff Stilinski cannot catch him here, and he thinks that his best friend’s father would understand the need for urgency even if he could.

His bike speeds by an elderly couple in an old Lincoln as they travel a few miles below the speed limit, and he barely registers the way that the wife brings a startled hand over her heart, though he does pick up the rapid rise in her pulse. Sparing them a glance, he assures himself that she will be all right and then returns his attention fully to the trail which may or may not lead him to Stiles.

Once or twice, he comes to a red light, and the unnecessary seconds that trickle by make his breaths come faster, his hair stand on end, his nails threaten to extend into claws. He reins his frustration and anxiety in, unwilling to risk someone seeing something they shouldn’t, even though it feels like all he can think about is Stiles.

A police car pulls out behind him as he passes through a residential area, its lights flashing, and Scott has to become a little more creative in order to lose the officer and still keep to the trail. He feels bad about it, but what else can he do? There’s no time.

He silently promises that his driving will be textbook perfect when he has Stiles back safely.

The trail continues on for another five minutes before Scott is forced to make a U-turn in order to continue following it, and then it begins leading back the way he came. Gritting his teeth, he tells himself that he expected something like this to happen anyway, and he continues on towards CalTech, hoping that he will either hear from one of the others soon or that he and Boyd will be able to check the fourth route.

Once he reaches the parking lot outside of Stiles’s dorm, he shoots off a text to let Boyd know where he is. Two minutes later, he receives one saying that Boyd is on his way to meet him. Scott’s heart sinks, and it is only then that he realizes how much he has been hoping that his beta would tell him that he had found the place where their missing pack member is being held. He puts his phone back in his pocket before he can give into the urge to take his disappointment out on it. Though he makes decent wages as Dr. Deaton’s assistant, he would hate having to replace his cell phone because he could not control himself.

Scrubbing his hands through his hair as he sits back on his bike, he is hit, as he has been several times over the last few years, with a deep sympathy for Derek. Before making the transition from beta to alpha, he had no way to understand what Derek was dealing with. Everything about his more wolfish side is heightened now. His protective instincts, his sense of pack, his potential for aggression. It was easy to judge the older werewolf for his mistakes when Scott was only responsible for himself and he had less of a struggle with the savage parts of himself that did not wish to follow the dictates of the human society in which he was born and raised.

Having Stiles around made things easier. He does not want to try to imagine what his first months as an alpha would have been like without his best friend, especially since he and Allison were not together at the time. Stiles was able to help him stay calm and focused, and to give him a kick in the pants whenever he needed it.

_Junior Year_

Pale, anemic light from the crescent moon filters in through his blinds, and he rolls over with a groan. Grabbing his pillow out from under his head, he pulls it up to cover his ears. It does nothing.

The water faucet in the kitchen is leaking again.

The simple solution would be to pad into the kitchen and shut it off, which would help save money on their water bill in addition to putting an end to the drip-drip-dripping that is slowly driving him mad. He stays where he is, even though he can feel his claws beginning to push their way through, and if he looked in a mirror right now, he would most likely not see brown eyes staring back at him. If he were still human, he would not even know about the leak. If he were still a beta, the sound would not resonate like the banging of a gong in his ears. Since he wishes one or the other of those things was still the case, he will simply have to fake it by pretending that the din does not exist. Turning off the faucet is tantamount to admitting defeat, and considering the fact that he still tried out for the lacrosse team back when he was an asthmatic on the wrong side of mediocre, admitting defeat has never really been in his nature.

The dripping continues, and he clenches his fists, ignoring the sharp spike of pain as his claws pierce his skin. He is not going to to do it. No matter how bad it gets, he is not leaving this bed.

What leaky faucet? There is no leaky faucet. He hears nothing.

Yeah, so apparently that only works if you’re Stiles or if you’re in _The Matrix_.

Almost as if thinking about Stiles was enough to summon his presence, Scott sniffs the air and lifts his head, pillow and all, in response to the undeniable scent of his best friend. The sound of his slightly uneven footsteps follows after, along with the erratic Adderall-thumping of his heart. He glares at the shades of his window, knowing what will come next.

Sure enough, two minutes later, there is a tap-tap-tapping at his window pane.

“C’mon, Scott,” he hears. “I know you’re awake.”

Growling, he tosses his pillow aside and goes to raise the blinds. There is just enough light out for Stiles to see the unimpressed look Scott levels at him.

Rather than wilt the way he does when he actually accepts the fact that someone is unhappy with his many misadventures, Stiles grins at him and mimes someone opening a window. Scott makes him wait for it, counting to sixty in his head. Finally, he relents and reaches out to open his bedroom window. He crosses his arms when he is done. “What are you doing out there alone, Stiles?”

After licking his lips, Stiles says, “Psh, alone? I’m not alone. I’m standing here, talking to you. Face to face. So, see? Not alone.”

“Yeah, okay. Let’s pretend that makes it okay,” even though it absolutely doesn’t. Has Stiles completely forgotten the existence of the alpha pack? “That still doesn’t explain why you’re here - and did you _walk here_?”

“Uh, yeah? My jeep’s in the shop again, remember?” He does, actually, because Stiles has complained about this very thing loudly and at length more than once in the last few days. Scott offered to let him ride on the back of his bike to and from school. Stiles didn’t take to the idea very well. (“I think I’d rather take my chances with the bus, but thanks anyway.” “You sure?” “Dude, you could not pay me to get on the back of that thing. Sorry, but just no. Not happening. Ever.”) Scott approves of his friend wandering around after dark on his own while the alphas are on the loose about as much as Stiles approves of hitching a ride on the back of Scott’s motorbike like the heroine of a chick flick. “As for what I’m doing here,” Stiles takes a moment to hold up his lacrosse bag, which Scott hadn’t noticed until now, “I figured you could use a little something to work out your aggravation.”

“What makes you think I’m aggravated?”

Stiles goggles at him. “Really, O Alpha Mine? I can feel whatever you’re feeling now, and whatever’s got you so pissed off is keeping me awake. Frankly, I’m surprised Boyd and Isaac haven’t come over here to kick your little werewolf ass for leaking your feelings all over the place.”

“Wait, you can feel that?” Scott has a vague sense of Isaac and Boyd, but he can barely feel Stiles. He wonders what makes the difference.

“Heh, _yeah_ , and let me tell you, it has not been pleasant. Which is why you are going to come with me now to play lacrosse at 3:00 a.m. You can consider this your penance for keeping me up this late on a school night.” Stiles informs him.

Frowning, Scott replies, “Uh, no, I really can’t.”

“Uh, yeah, you really can. Unless, of course, you’d be okay with me hanging out at the field all by myself, just waiting for some big bad alpha to come and take me away.”

The worst part is that Scott knows his best friend is completely serious. He’s like the birds who will stand in the road and stare, waiting until the last possible moment to move out of the way of oncoming traffic. He watches Stiles silently, making no attempt to hide his disgruntlement. Stiles, impervious to such expressions after receiving them from pretty much everyone he has ever known his entire life, endures the judgmental scrutiny with an expectant look on his face.

Eventually, he throws his hands in the air. “Fine! You win. Just let me get my bag.”

Stiles crows. Scott spitefully pictures him in a forest green tunic and tights.

Would that make him Wendy?

He shakes his head. To distract himself, he asks, “So you’re really not worried about running into one of the alphas?”

“That’s why I have you, buddy.”

Scoffing, Scott shoves his legs into a pair of sweatpants. “Don’t remind me.”

He can feel the full force of his best friend’s attention on the back of his neck as he sits down to pull on a pair of socks and then put on his shoes. As he stands to go grab his lacrosse bag, he hears Stiles ask, “Is that what’s got you so ticked off?”

“Maybe,” Scott hedges. “Can we just not talk about it?”

“Sure thing,” Stiles says softly. Then his face lights up with the sort of mischief that he exudes almost every second that he’s awake. “We can talk about how Derek’s been putting the moves on Ms. Blake instead.”

Scott’s face screws up in disgust, and he reaches out to put the hand not holding onto the strap of his bag on the back of his friend’s neck. Squeezing gently, he pushes Stiles back towards the window, not wanting to risk waking his mom by going out the front door. “Nope. Not that, either.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

“Spoilsport. Turning into a werewolf killed your sense of humor.”

“Yeah?” Scott asks. “Then what wrecked yours?”

“Rude!” Stiles laughs as he climbs out of the room. Scott reaches out to steady his friend when he wobbles, then follows after.

They walk several blocks until they reach the park where Stiles used to play as a small child. Scott, who didn’t move to Beacon Hills until the seventh grade, has only ever visited the place in order to practice lacrosse with Stiles in the wide open field that lays just beyond the playground. They stopped coming here when they discovered the clearing out in the preserve toward the middle of their sophomore year, but it’s nice to come back and have the field all to themselves, with the blanket of stars above them and the crisp air of early spring caressing their faces.

For a little while, they toss the ball back and forth, and then Scott decides to get payback for Stiles dragging him out here in the early hours of the morning. He carefully tosses his cross and then runs up to Stiles, his hand held out. “TAG! You’re it!” He runs backwards, away from his victim.

Stiles looks bemused, but he is already starting to place his own cross on the ground. “What, really?” he laughs.

Scott sends him a grin and then puts on a burst of speed.

“Oh, it’s on now, buddy.”

In the end, he lets Stiles catch him, and they go down in a tangle of limbs. He wraps his arm around his friend’s waist and stares up at the dark expanse of the sky. It isn’t until that moment that he realizes he has not thought about being an alpha since Stiles brought him out here.

And this far away, he can’t hear the dripping of the faucet in the kitchen sink.

_Now_

As he waits for Boyd to arrive, he reflects on his continued inability to sense Stiles through the pack bond. He wonders if that will ever change. It would certainly come in handy now.

Still, he knows that he is doing what he can to find Stiles with the resources and abilities he actually possesses, and that will have to be enough.

Stiles has always come through for him, even when Scott didn’t realize that he needed something his best friend could provide. It’s time for Scott to return the favor.


End file.
